


Run Away

by votesaxonforministerofmagic (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Crime, Fluff, Hatred, Johnlock - Freeform, Loss, M/M, Male on Male, Self Confidence Issues, Self Harm, Smut, Violence, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-04 12:31:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/votesaxonforministerofmagic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” His voice echoed around the room violently. Father suddenly ran into the room waving the boys phone in the air crazily. His stomach dropped. He found it. “I DID NOT RAISE YOU LIKE THIS!” He lashed out and his the cowering boy beneath him in the chair, drawing speckles of blood.<br/>Warnings: abuse, violence, homophobia and racism at times. (Not good with summaries)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR NOTES. The university is The University Of Edinburgh as it is Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s and for the sakes of this fanfiction it is based in London and not Edinburgh, sorry if this is confusing. Also, I don’t know whether I should carry this on or not, so please leave reviews giving tips on my writing skills and prompts. Much love :3 And sorry for the weird font at the beginning, I have no idea what happened there but it won't sort itself out.  
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own the band Kansas, the characters, the university or basically anything in this. This was published yesterday on my FanFiction account under the same author and title name.

### The boy was walking through his house, calmly for a weekday when his Father was home. He made himself some lunch, as he has done for himself from a young age, making sure there was extra for his Mother. It was piping hot when the young man poured it into two bowls and walked slowly through the hallway to the front sitting room.

“Thank you John,” his mother greeted him with a warm smile, taking the offered soup. Tasting it with a spoon, John sat on the armchair next to her and looked out the front view mirror. “It’s a delightfully quiet day, isn’t it darling?” The boy’s Mother replied with her usual poise and elegance.

“Yes, Mother, it is. Today at school I got a B in sci-”

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” His voice echoed around the room violently. Father suddenly ran into the room waving the boys phone in the air crazily. His stomach dropped. _He found it_. “I DID NOT RAISE YOU LIKE THIS!” He lashed out and his the cowering boy beneath him in the chair, drawing speckles of blood.

“CHARLES!” His mother screamed in shock. “STOP THIS AT ONCE.”

“What, woman? You have emotion for this little freak?” He lashed out again, this time around the woman’s face, making her fall out of her chair.

“Dad, please, stop,” the boy whimpered, taking another hit to the face. The mans ring cut his cheekbone deeply. “Not Mum...”

“No John. I did not raise you to be scum.” He spat at the man beneath him. “You disgust me. You peice of SHIT!” He yelled and dragged John by his reddened ear to his bed, through the everlasting hallways. He fumbled angrily at his belt before lashing it out at the boy. “You are scum like your sister. But she wasn’t mine. She was your mothers. She did this to you. This is her fault.” He punctuated every word with a whip from the metal buckle, whilst pointing at the boys mother hastily.

“Dad, please. Please stop this,” he started crying, choking madly on the tears. Blood was seeping through his top from the beating. It will stop. He will go away. It will stop.

“Am I hurting you, gay boy?!” His father yelled. “But, no. You are Questioning, aren’t you? That means I can still fix you.” He whipped more and more.

“Please stop.” His mother rose up from the doorway and tackled the man off John. The man grunted in pain and forcefully threw the woman off him. He punched her heavily around the head until she stopped struggling.

“LOOK WHAT YOU DID?!” His Father stood up from over the women's limp body, grabbed the boy by his jaw and lifted him up. “YOU KILLED HER.”

 

John sat bolt upright, in sweats. “COME ON! GET UP!” His Father screamed from the doorframe of his room, banging loudly on the door. John flinched at the loud and sudden movements from his Father, “What are you flinching for? Didn’t have ANOTHER nightmare did you? I told you to man up. You are a Watson. Watson are not afraid of anything.” He said, stressing each syllable.

“Not at all sir,” lied John through clenched teeth. “Just...” he selected his words carefully, “you startled me, sir, that’s all.”

“Right. Man up. Get down stairs.” He spat over John.

“Yes, yes. I’ll be downstairs in five minutes, Father.” He nodded and dismissed himself. John wiped his brow of sweat and trembled out of bed, had he really been that afraid of his own father? _She’s alive. She’s alive_ , John repeated to himself over and over. He stripped out of his sweat-covered pyjama bottoms and went to his shower. His shower room, like his room, was empty to the point of only necessities like shampoo and a razor or two.

He emerged three minutes later, naked, and stood before his mirror. He saw his old scars on his arms and stomach. John tried to ignore them as he slipped into a formal button down shirt and jeans. Nodding in approval of his appearance, he stumbled out of his room, tripping over three bags.

 

Downstairs, he found his Father, as usual, couped around the T.V. with a bowl of weetabix; ignoring his Fathers grunts at the screen, he walked past and entered the kitchen. The blonde man made his ‘ _anti-anxiety_ ’ breakfast, as his Mother called it, of chocolate spread and marmite toast. When we was waiting for it to pop up, he heard yelling and shouting from the front room. As he went to investigate, John heard the distant _pop!_ of toast.

“Idiotic faggots.” His Father yelled in outrage at his T.V. “They should be banned EVERYWHERE. Not just in those countries. What about this country? I didn’t risk my life so some faggots can get married. They will ruin this country.” He rambled. John practically ran out of the room in despair at his Father’s words. He always knew that he was extremely homophobic and racist, but that was too far. John didn’t understand how someone could be so negative. He remembered a few years ago when Mother was still living with them, when Harry came out to him. He went ape and kicked her out on the street, disowning her for life. He hated his Father for this. His Mother left them a month after. He always abused his mother and him.

He grabbed his toast, decorated it in chocolate and marmite, before escaping the comments by running to his room. John’s room hadn’t been decorated since Mother moved out, the wallpaper was ripping and turning a disgusting shade of off-white. John started to pack his final things; half a tube of 2 in 1 shampoo and conditioner, a few shaving razors, his comfort pillow and the last few shirts. He started to rummage under his bed, knowing his Father would do the same, checking there was nothing suspicious under there. After cleaning out a time-forgotten condom wrapper, a shoebox and lastly a cobwebbed teddy from his childhood. Letting out a sigh of reminiscence, John found his old, private Journal. Flashbacks of being given it by his counsellor in high school and the embarrassment of hiding it from his Father. The man opened it carefully onto a random page:

 

_January 21st: It’s been a month since Harry had moved out as Mother said. I heard the arguments, I just don’t like to think about it. It makes me feel depressed and scared of my own house. (John had to record his feelings towards each thing that happened to him. Councillor Jane said it would be good for him, this just made John laugh.) My Father has been getting very angry towards Mother lately. It scares me. He started hitting her today and she just left. I wonder when she will come back. It’s been four hours now. I want her back._

_In other news, today I met a girl today called Sally. She was very pretty and friendly towards me. I wish more people were like her._

 

John flicked to a new page.

 

_August 14th: I hate the summer holidays at home but Father has been out every day so far. Today I went to the beach today with Sally. She was really pretty and we had a great time. I am so glad she is my girlfriend. I like like her a lot._

 

John closed the book and cringed at the awkwardness of it all. _Had I really been THAT cringey?!_ John felt an odd rush of sentiment and embarrassment, before he decided to pack it away with him. There was too much personal information in there that if his Father got hold off... Well, John didn’t like to think of the consequences.

 

John picked up the remains of his bags and lugged them down the stairs awkwardly to the car. After dumping them in the back, he slumped into the front of the car, selecting the correct album. _Ahh, yes. Monolith, one of Kansas’ best creations_ , the thought to himself as he blasted it out.

 

_“There are some who can still remember_

_All the things that we used to do_

_But the days of our youth were numbered_

_And the ones who survive it are few_

 

_Oh, I can still see the smiling faces_

_When the times were so good_

_Oh in the all familiar places_

_I'd go back if I could”_

  


John sang along merrily to his favourite song, _People Of The South Wind_ , trying to take his mind of the day to lead. His Father jumped into the car singing his heart out, making John smile. No matter how many times his Father yelled or hit John, he could never not love his music taste.

“I don’t know why you had to go so far away,” his Father grumbled in a music interval. John chose The University Of Edinburgh as it was far, far away from his Father, but also because of the prime location in London. _A new start_ , he thought happily to himself.

“Yeah, I don’t know either...” He tried to laugh it off before turning back to the song.

 

_“To the people of the south wind_

_To the people of the southern wind_

_To the people of the south wind_

_To the people of the southern wind_

 

_Well it's a hard thing to face the music_

_So I hope that I can always remember_

_All the crazy times we had to go through_

  


_Now it's a dream that is slowly fading_

_Oh I don't want it to go_

_All of the memories are evading_

_And I Want you to know”_

 

Still singing along with his Father, they passed through winding country lanes, the odd U-turn and a dual carriageway. The occasional racist remark from John’s Father flew over his head, as he trained them to. A few songs in the album later, he started talking about one of his army experiences which ‘made him a man’. The older man described a bomb the size of his torso plummeting towards the army base, only to land a few hundred meters away. The after shock blew three men into the bomb crater and John’s Father was one of the selected few to rescue the men. No matter the situation, his Father would always have an army story to tell.

 

Just as the were passing through a town called Wool, a group of vandals started to spray paint a billboard. John was disgusted at them for this useless attack on society but his Father was fuming. He started screaming abuse, yelling at the one black person, calling them sickening names. John ducked below their line of vision. He could feel his ears turn red. John’s Father calmed down marginally once they had passed the group. “Why don’t we stop for a coffee?” He piped up.

“No thanks, sir. You may have one but I am quite fine thank you.” John replied worryingly, he was still too embarrassed to get out of the car with his Father.

“It’s alright then.” Father replied, after a moment of consideration, “you sound like her, you know?” He said, suggesting John sounded like his Mother, whom is Father hated. “She was too lazy to come today to see you off. It’s disgusting.” John only nodded in response, choosing it wise not to argue back. His Mother actually choose not to turn up because she was terrified of the man.

 

After a few hours of awkward driving and a few Kansas albums, they arrived at the University. John was happy enough to take himself off now and he expressed this, but his Father thought this was the time to do the first ‘fatherly’ thing in his entire life. He helped John carry his bags to the hall, he dumped them in a corner and left John with only a ‘Goodbye’, not even a ‘good luck’ or ‘I’ll miss you’. The blonde haired man shrugged his shoulders and left to the right hall with guidance.

 

“Good afternoon students and parents!” A booming voice echoed around the high ceilinged hall. “Welcome to The University Of Edinburgh!” A man, John estimated at about 5 foot 6, walked onto the stage in front of the seated people proudly. John had sat down on the edge of the second row, not wanting to get in anyone’s way. “I am Professor Lestrade! I am the head of your year so I have the amazing privilege of welcoming you all here. I see we have an eager looking group here and the year ahead of us will certainly be hard. But don’t worry, there is plenty of teachers who are willing to help you through the year at anytime. And for the parents, we have a 24/7 emergency call line...” He continued and the crowd nodded and clapped at appropriate times. John, alone by the side, noticed two men sitting together. One had receding, ginger hair, the other black, curly hair. John noticed them was because the ginger one received a loud phone call which interrupted the presentation as he left, the other man was left alone, like John, looking rather embarrassed. John turned back to the presentation and after a few extra slides it was over. “Now, if you would find a staff member at the ends of the rooms, they will tell you your room numbers! Get going now, everything you need will be in your rooms, including timetables and classes start tomorrow at a later time of 11 o’clock.” With that, the crowd disbanded and dripped out of the room slowly. John, who had been repeatedly pushed to the back of the line, stood patiently waiting for a member of staff. Finally, after a family of five moved out the way, John approached the woman.

 

“Hello, um... John Watson?” His voice shook.

“Watson... Watson...” She scrolled down the pages of names, occasionally looking at John’s showing abs, which left John wondering if she was staff or a student. Either way, John had put her on his bucket list. “Ahh, yes. John Watson. Here you go, room 221.” She handed him a key and pointed him in the right direction. John picked his bags and stumbled to his room. The door was left open a tad and John heard distant moans from inside. _Buggering shit..._ he thought angrily to himself, _I’ve already had_ _a break in_. John burst through the door to find the curly haired man from earlier unpacking messily into all the draws.

 

“Ahhhemmm,” John cleared his throat. The man looked up startled and nodded accordingly. 

“John Watson, I am Sherlock Holmes. Hello. I didn’t think you were coming so I used your draws. If this is a problem I could move my stuff?” Sherlock said calmly.

“Yes please.” John placed his bags on the bed Sherlock hadn’t claimed. “How did you know who I was?”

“I know a lot of things, John. Best not to ask.” He said distantly and continued to unpack various skulls onto his desk. “Like I know that you have an abusive Father, your Mother left you at an early age and a sibling too. Also you are scared of your Father, indicating he abused you. You are ashamed of your family but you don’t want to let them down. I know that you want to join the military, possibly as a doctor.”

“Amazing... But... How? You know what, never mind. Just forget it.” John shrugged it off angrily and started unpacking Sherlock’s stuff himself, bored of the man's attitude. “So what about you? You seem to have all the answers about me, but what about you?”

“Me? I am unimportant to the likes of you. I am merely here to study and not make friends, thank you John Watson.” Sherlock spat. No matter how badly Sherlock treated John, all John could think about was how attractive he is. His high cheekbones, his curly hair, his colourful eyes.

“Ok, sorry. Jesus.” John said disappointedly. He finished unpacking quickly, a trait from his Mother’s side, and sat on his bed, open legged, staring at Sherlock. _God, he is attractive. Am I still questioning? Am I bisexual? Oh my god. Father would HATE me. He’d throw me out. He would start hitting me again. No. I just... I am just attracted to Sherlock’s looks, that’s all,_ John thought to himself.

 

Sherlock had been out for a few years now, ever since his brother ‘ _outted_ ’ him at a family reunion by exposing his attraction to another man. Since then, he had renounced emotions towards people. He didn’t want to be mean to an attractive man such as John, but living in such close quarters to him? That’s a bad idea. Sherlock had deduced John from the moment he saw him walk through the main gates to the University. He deduced almost everything, except his sexuality. Sherlock usually doesn’t consult with finding out such immature things. _Feelings_ _are a weakness_ , he’d tell himself. But John was... Well, a mystery to Sherlock. And Sherlock couldn’t resist a mystery.

 

The day had been mediocre to dull at best for Sherlock. Mother and Father had been away so he hadn’t seen them and he took the private helicopter with Mycroft here, he had taken a day off work to help his little brother out. _How sentimental,_ Sherlock giggled to himself. The most fun Sherlock had had today was deducing John and the other delinquents who barely scrapped it in to this university. A bumbling idiot, named Anderson, had tripped him over and called him names, and term hadn’t even started. He has discovered that he is smarter than 95% of the teachers and he sees no point of being here. He is only here for his brothers mental state.

He continued unpacking until he observed John staring at him in awe, he looked up just as the smaller man looked away in embarrassment. Sherlock, himself, felt a very human urge to talk to John about his life and so forth, but he reminded himself that he promised himself not to get involved in social interactions.

 

“So, I suspect you don't like cafeteria food that much?” John attempted to make conversation. “I saw a place on the way here that looked nice... What was it’s name... Ahh yeah, Angelo’s! Wanna go tonight? I can pay...?” John offered.

“Sounds... OK.” Sherlock replied. _What’s one meal going to do anyway?_

 


	2. Chapter Two

_What’s one meal going to do anyway_? Sherlock quizzes himself. He hated not knowing things. John had left five minutes ago, to scout around the school, his words not Sherlock’s. Sherlock was left alone in the room to ponder on his thoughts. His head was screaming, thoughts yelling into his brain cells, he could feel the vibrations against his skull. It was like he was on a case, but his mind was screaming about John. He had only known the man for 10 minutes and seen him three times. In the ten minutes all that had happened was that he had been his usual horrid self to John and managed to get a free dinner out of it. That’s not how he thought normal people worked. Sherlock thought that if you hurt one, they would go away and never come back. That was his defense mechanism.

Discarding the few boxes left, Sherlock snapped open his laptop. He ignored the email notification, _Mycroft coming to apologise?_ he thought to himself, and “logged” into the Scottish Yard archive again. After he “logged” in, he discovered the top wanted had changed, some man in his late fifties with no name. _Interesting_ , he carried on through the heavily restricted website, signing in as Mycroft Holmes when needed. Nothing of Sherlock’s importance took his eye as he scanned through the various listings of National Importance.

 

 John walked through school alone, nodding at whoever looked at him. His mind was racing and body aching. His father bruised his back yesterday for not collecting the mail. He was so relieved to have escape that wretched man. He never told his counsellor about it in the fear he would get arrested. Then he would be mad. He couldn’t tell anyone about his father, yet Sherlock knew, that worried John. He wasn’t sure he could trust him. John’s mind wandered on and on about the mysterious man in his room. Soon he found himself with his face in the floor, he looked up in shock. Standing over him, the greasy haired man who was sniggering into his girlfriend's mouth.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there,” once they stopped for air, they were laughing again. John stood up, trying to remain cool, and started to mutter _I will not be like_ _my_ _Father, I will not be like my Fathe_ r under his breath. He stormed off.

 

Sherlock looked up to find the man who had been controlling his thoughts and allowed a small smile to creep across his face. “You look positively ghastly,” Sherlock stated, “what happened?”

“Oh like you care, Sherlock!” John snapped. “Like you bloody care. You are not here for social interventions, you are here to learn and thats bloody it.” He ranted.

“John slow dow-”

“No. Ok? I just want to know where I stand with you Sherlock? We are roommates and I have already made enough enemies here already.” John exploded, trying to hide his tears, he ran to the bathroom. He slapped himself round the face for doing such a thing, washed his face and exited. “I am sorry Sherlock. It has been a long day.” He said, hanging his head.

“Understandable,” Sherlock said, making mental notes on John. He is fragile but tries to uphold his image. _He doesn’t want to seem weak, and he punishes himself for it. I see no evidence of self harm now or previously, only the occasional slap round the face like two seconds ago. Do I comfort him? How would I go about doing that?_ Sherlock’s mind grew increasingly worried. He allowed his human instincts to take over, much to his disgust, and hugged John for comfort. John, shocked by this sudden human movement from the taller man, nuzzled his head to his neck. Breathing in Sherlocks scent, John relaxed a little but grew a little worried about his roommate. Just an hour ago he seemed like he had no human side at all.

“Um, Sherlock?”  

“What is it John? Am I doing this wrong?” John could feel the vibrations from the youngest Holmes’ chest. Sherlock stiffened and shuffled away, “I just wanted to... You know, help. I don’t know how these things work. I have never, or needed to be, helped anyone before.”

“No, no. It’s fine, Sherlock. Nice actually. It’s just... You seemed like you hated my existence an hour ago. Now, this?” John half whispered, “never mind anyway, can you help me with this form? I don’t know what it means.” Sherlock scooted closer to John in his wheely chair and grabbed the form.

“Really. This?” Sherlock looked at the tedious form in front of him and clicked a pen.

 

A few hours past of scribbling and exchanged but never seen looks, John decided he was hungry. “Want to go out now? I am starving”

“Yes. I’ll text brother, he’ll have a private car outside in seconds.” Sherlock went to grab his coat the same time as John did, their hands touched for a millisecond. Sherlock pulled away in horror whilst John turned a deep shade of pink.

"Oh god, Sherlock I am so sorry!" John tried to apologise.

"It's perfectly ok John. Just a mistake. Come on, that's my brother outside," he replied looking out the window. A couple of minutes later they were in the back of a black Volvo, _second class_? Sherlock asked his brother via message.

"This is nice," John said smiling to himself. His mind was replaying the scene earlier. It was only a touch of hands, but it made him feel so special. He just wanted to hold Sherlock again. _Oh god, I think I like him_.

 

Later in the restaurant, an over friendly waiter came bounding over smiling maniacally at Sherlock. Sherlock tried to avoid the waiters gaze and John shot Sherlock a questioning look. “Sherlock, hello! Glad to see you old friend!” the man beamed, “what can I get for you and your date, on the house?”

“I will have a small chicken tikka and John will have a lasagna,” Sherlock shot the man a wink and dismissed him.

“D-d-date?” John finally managed to mutter.

“Oh, right. I saved his life a few months back. No need to pay.” Sherlock said ignoring the date gesture. John tilted his head to the side, to ask why. “He got into some bother with the Ukrainian police. Long story short, I saved an innocent man from death by stoning by sleeping with the executioner.” Sherlock said casually, making John laugh.

“Male or female?” John giggled.

“Male, of course. Not that I mind he was a man...” Sherlock said. A small ‘oh’ came to Johns throat. Sherlock sat directly under light which showed off his facial structure amazingly and muscles under his tight top beautifully, John couldn’t help but stare at him. He positively hated himself for this _._ _I can’t be gay. I cannot be attracted to him._

Once the man returned with their food, Sherlock and John exchanged thanks and dove in. The food was amazing but unlike John, Sherlock only picked acutely at his food. He couldn’t eat, not when his head was like this. His head started screaming louder since the hand touch earlier, and despite multiple attempts of trying to delete the memory, it wouldn’t go.

“Sherlock, what’s wrong? You have merely touched your food,” John asked, mouth full off food.

“I am fine, thank you John. My mind is preoccupied and it doesn’t allow me to eat or sleep much when I am like this.” Sherlock replied, quickly adding, “just a case.”

“A case?” John inquired.

“Yes. I run cases when the police are too mediocre to solve them. I hack the files online, using my brothers log in, and solve them in a matter of days. The police think they are all of this, but they are bumbling idiots when it actually comes to it.” He returned to his food. He didn’t technically lie to John, because solving cases was a simple pass time for him. But he had a nagging sensation in the back of his yelling mind to tell John how he feels. But how does he feel? _I am wrong. I need a doctor. I am sick. I feel sick. I have a pulling on my heart. It hurts. Get out. Out. OUT. SHUT UP. SHhhh. Please..._ He pleaded his own mind.

“The police don’t consult amateurs.” John joked, only to be met by a stone cold look. He felt his cheeks redden from the eye contact, he hurriedly looked down in shame. _Dammit_. “So, what was that stunt earlier? You told me my life story from just looking at me?”

“Yes I did. I can deduce people, John.” John shivered slightly to the sound of his name, “That means I can tell a lot about people from the way they hold themselves and how they dress and look and so on.”

“Interesting... Show me!” John beamed in glee.

“Really? You don’t think it’s weird?” In reply, John shook his head. Sherlock continued, “Ok. Well. That man over there? You see him? The one with the yellow shirt?” John nodded again, “he is cheating on his wife, and has been for a while. That woman he is with is a possible new lover, they haven’t met before now, which indicates they met online. He has two children and wants more but cannot due to the unhappy marriage. He doesn’t have enough money for the bill and is likely to ask the woman to pay.”

“Amazing.” John murmured after a long moment. “Absolutely bloody brilliant!”

“You know you do that out loud, right?” Sherlock smiled slightly at the compliment.

“Oh, sorry...” John said looking embarrassed. He laughed slightly and continued eating, but never breaking eye contact with Sherlock. Sherlock broke the contact and looked down sheepishly. His mind was angry with him. He was having human emotions, and it scared him. He hadn’t had these since his brother ‘outted’ him.

 

Once they had finished their meal, the waiter neglected their bill and they were left waiting in the rain for Mycroft's chauffeur. “Commmoooooonnnnn,” Sherlock moaned as he double checked to see if the message sent. They were both soaked to the skin, Sherlocks white shirt, exposing him. John, trying not to look, let out a frustrated sigh. _He’s so damn good looking_. John thought to himself in anger. “So, your father,”Sherlock said, trying to kill time.

“I don’t really want to..” John feebly protested.  
“You should report him to the police, John. He can’t hurt you now.” Sherlock comforted John from a pat on the back, making him crave more physical contact. John cringed away from the hand on his back. Sherlock suddenly realised why. He changed to just giving him a quick squeeze around the shoulders. _This is what people do to_ _reassure people, correct_? He asked himself.

“But I can’t. He’ll find me.. And... And...” He felt his throat choke up. “I really don’t want to talk about this to you Sherlock. No offence, but I don’t know that I can trust you. I mean, you hack the police daily and you seem like a psychopath.. In the nicest way...”

“Highly functioning sociopath,” Sherlock corrected under his breath.  “Well, I am here if you want to talk. I have some good counsellors on my brothers contacts too. The best in the country and they would be free under circumstances I could create.” He offered.

“It’s ok. I am ok. Just, don’t... Don’t touch my back,” John said as the black car turned up. This time it was a Volvo V40, an upgrade. Sherlock smiled a little in gratitude towards his brother and followed John into the car.

 

Back at the dorm, they dried off and John put their private kettle on. Unlike many of the other rooms in the university, they had a kitchen corner with a kettle, microwave and mini oven. “Tea?” He asked. Sherlock nodded in response and took his button up shirt off. John adverted his eyes and immediately regretted it.

“Don’t be so..." he stopped, looking for the right word. "Human, John. We are both men, and we have both the same parts.” He continued to strip to his boxers, never not looking taking his eyes off John. _Is this too forward? I am just seeing how his response is... Like an experiment_ Sherlock thought. John’s ears turned red and stood back facing Sherlock. The taller man pouted and slipped into a light blue top and indigo tracking bottoms.

“Can I turn around now?” John asked, holding too hot cups of tea. There was a mumble of agreement. John stared at Sherlock in his sloggs admiring his looks. Even in the worse of clothes, he looked amazing to John. He sat down on Sherlock's bed next to the man himself, hoping he wouldn’t mind the closeness of him. “Can I sit here?” John asked.

“Yes, that’s fine,” Sherlock slumped his hand in between them, _this is what people do to the people they like? Right?_ He grew ever worried about the emotions he was feeling towards the man he only had met this noon. “Listen, John-” he turned to the man. John had heard that voice before, it was a confession.

“No, Sherlock... Here... I think I have been too forward with you today. I obviously find you attractive but I don’t know if you feel the same way.” He stopped for air, “I can request a new room if you want to.”

“John-”

“I just can’t get involved with a man... My father... And this is too fast and it could go so wro-” he was shut up by lips against him. He melted into the kiss with Sherlock, but raised a reluctant hand to push him away to his chest. Sherlock started to move towards him slowly, filling the gap between them, pulling him closer. But suddenly Sherlock pulled away in shock. “Sherlock?”

“I am sorry John. I just. Oh god.” He instantly ran into the bathroom.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and kudos, I can only update if that actually happens:3 Thanks for the people who have already done so. Hope you liked it^.^ (this is also on FanFiction.net)


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: self harm and smut in this chapter.
> 
> Hi guys. I am updating a lot recently because I have nothing to do. I am writing this because I am currently very depressed. Yay. Please comment and kudos, it helps me a lot. I apologise for my crappy writing technique, too.

Sherloc-Sher-Sherlock?" John's voice trembled as he spoke through the bathroom door.

"Go AWAY!" Sherlock snapped back. John could hear him to start to cry, he started to shake.

"Sherlock, get away from the door," he warned before ramming his heel to the door, smashing it open. He gasped at the sight before him. Sherlock, the Sherlock he just kissed, was sat, slumped, in the corner of the bathroom, trouserless, covered in blood from the thigh. "Shit," John cursed before he grabbed some wet tissue. "Gimme that," he demanded through tears, taking the razor from the man beneath him and threw it forcefully against the opposite wall. "Come here you." He took Sherlock to his chest and started to rock him. John dabbed gingerly at the cuts on Sherlock's thigh, trying not to hurt him anymore. "These are quite deep, give me a second," he ran to get more tissue. Sherlock, paler than usual, mumbled in haste towards the other man.

"I am fine," he finally roared. He stood up in defiance and shooed John out the room. John, stood his ground not allowing the weaker man to move him an inch. He looked into Sherlocks eyes and saw desperation and a boy who's pleading for help.

"No you are not ok. Come here," he bent down between Sherlocks thighs and gently fitted a bandage around his thigh. Helping Sherlock to pull up his trousers, he stood. "Sherloc-"

"This never happened," Sherlock threatened John. "You never saw or heard anything to do with this. A single word and you'll find yourself in trouble. You hear me?" John grew to his full length, he had faced this kind of threatening all his life, he will not put up with it from Sherlock of all people.

"No. I think I DID see some things and I DID hear some things. I will not pass them on though." John started to cower like he did as a child. He was waiting for a beating.

"Shit," Sherlock mumbled under his breath.  _Of course. His Father,_  Sherlock thought, instantly regretting his actions. "I am sorry John."

"Right, OK. Come here," he lead the taller man to the bed they were previously on. "Now, talk." He demanded a little too harshly.

"I am sorry John. It's what I do, ok? It's the only thing I have discovered to help the shouting in my head." Sherlock uncharacteristically admitted. "Can we not talk about this? I have known you for a day." John understood, nodded and climbed into his own bed.

"Would it be ok if I slept? It's been a long day and I'm hurting." John grew drowsy. "I refuse to sleep if you'll do that again. Promise me you won't Sherlock. I know it's a big ask, but I care about you." Sherlock nodded.

"Go to sleep John," he said deeply. "I'll be fine."

"G'night Sherlock," John muttered before falling into an unwanted and restless sleep.

John had settled into his classes well, making one friend but more enemies. Anderson had grown increasingly unpleasant to him, and had gained followers against him and Sherlock. His Father hadn't bothered to message him once in the two months he had been at The University Of Edinburgh, and he couldn't decide if that was good or bad. John had gained two grade in his subjects, which consisted of postgraduate medical science and postgraduate biology, since Sherlock had been tutoring him. Sherlock and him had grew closer since the incident on the first day, but nothing had happened between them. The feelings for Sherlock did not fade. They only ever grew stronger.

Whereas, Sherlock made no advances in his grades, though that it's physically impossible to improve on solid A*'s, and grew bored of his studies. He didn't open a text book outside the classroom, and only revised acutely for the end of term winter exams. He helped John with his work as it was mediocre but the man was struggling to get decent grades. Sherlock's older brother, Mycroft, had sent him a few boring cases for him to do which he solved in the same afternoon. Sherlock grew tiresome of the yelling in his head, but hadn't cut himself since the night John found him. Something about being around that man helped him cope in ways he couldn't and never will explain. Sherlock had made no progress in making friends although him and John would be seen as friends. Sherlock went to Mycroft about his feelings towards John after growing worried he would be sectioned into a mental health hospital. Mycroft laughed at te fact he went to him but allowed Sherlock to understand that it was natural for him to be attracted to people. "Although emotions are not an advantage my dear brother," Mycroft reminded Sherlock. After forcing him to stay quiet about the whole ordeal Sherlock grew less worried about the situation.

On the Tuesday of the first week of the winter holidays Sherlock and John decided to have a lazy day in. Neither of them were bothered to change and since no one would come knocking on their door, there was no real need too. They sat on Sherlock's bed as always, talking. John remembered what happened the first night he was here and put his hand out to hold were the cuts had been. When Sherlock acknowledged this movement, he flinched away.

"Sherlock, have you harmed again?" John asked worriedly.

"No not at all. I just... I don't like people touching me." Sherlock hesitated.

"Am I classified as people though Sherlock? I think we've gone past that stage," he allowed his hand to gently touch Sherlock's thigh and rub it, as if trying to heal it. "See? It's all ok."

"Yes, I guess it is." Sherlock said, mind whirling out of control from the contact. _Just kiss him like you did before_. "Urm, John? Remember the first night we met?" He asked slowly, waiting for a reply.

"Yes, we... We kissed,"

"Yes. I was wondering if I could kiss you again. I want to see something. Call it an experiment if you will." Sherlock said.

"I don't know..." John started to blush, Just kiss me you fool!

"You've helped me in experiments before? Why not now?" Sherlock pouted, and acting as if it was a hard decision, John leaned forwards and kissed him on the lips softly. Sherlock put his hand on John's thigh and moved closer. The sudden screaming in his head disappeared and all he could hear and register was John. John parted his lips slightly and traced his tongue across Sherlock's bottom lip, requesting permission. Sherlock nodded a little and deepened the kiss eagerly. They broke apart for a millisecond to breathe before reuniting the eager kiss. Sherlock slowly leaned into John, pushing back onto the bed below him and climbed on top of him. Both men felt blood rush to their groins. John bucked his hips up instinctively but broke the kiss after a few extra seconds.

"Why you stop?" Sherlock moaned.

"Sherlock, that was our second kiss, aren't not together, it was an experiment and it if continued I would of had you on that wall topping you. I don't want to move this fast... Not at least if I am not with you." John explained, picking the right words carefully. That was the best experience of his life, he didn't want it to end. "I want to be with you Sherlock," he finally admitted.

"And I you, John," he replied after a few moments, "but I am not normal... You don't know much about me yet and I'm inhuman."

"Sherlock Holmes. You are the most humany human I have ever met to human with," John laughed, pulling up the sunken head of the man. "I want to be with you, no matter what you think of yourself. I want to be that part of you who makes you human." Sherlock looked into John's eyes in awe.

"Really?" He speculated.

"Really." John smiled and kissed Sherlock lightly." So is that a yes?" He winked at the taller man.

"Yes. Yes. Come here," he pulled John in for a kiss. John pushed him away from the chest leaving Sherlock confused.

"Sorry, I am curious now, boyfriend," he emphasised. "What don't I know about you?"

"What do you want to know? I'm not that interesting." Sherlock continued cautiously,  _this will be the thing that ruins it. He wants to know what kind of a monster I am._

"Ok. I have an idea. Seaming as you don't know much about me either, why don't we play a game I used to play in high school? It's childish but it makes confessing things easier?" John suggested, met with a reluctant nod. "Ok, me first. What's it like in your head? I mean you can deduce pretty fast so it's gotta be fast, right?"

"Big question," he teased, "well. It's loud all the time. There's screaming and yelling and alarms going off 24/7. It gets louder but more organised when I am on a case. That means I can file my thoughts and knock out the irrelevant ones. I can delete thoughts and memories as well. Only, I couldn't delete the memory of our first kiss," John blushed at this. "But when I am with you, it's a little quieter. When I kiss you, it's silent. All I can hear and register is you. I hear your heartbeat, your breathing, I feel the way you move your left thumb and smiley acutely against me." John took a moment before gesturing for Sherlock to ask a question. "What's your future plans?" Oh course, Sherlock already knew that he wished to be a military doctor, but he wanted John's view on the agenda.

"Ahh... I want to be an army doctor, as you know. I want a decent size house where I can raise my son and daughter correctly and then to have a good life." John answered shortly. "Oh! Oh! My turn!" He jumped up and down hyperly, making Sherlock smile. "What's the deal with your brother?"

"What? Mycroft? He's practically the British government. He has eyes and ears everywhere. I wouldn't be surprised if he was watching ups as we speak." John felt a shiver going down his spine, "What's your father like? And you only have to tell me what you are comfortable with," Sherlock added edgley, remembering what happened last time.

"Ok. I trust you completely not to tell anyone, so please don't. Well. He's nice to outsiders, he's the kind of guy you'll wave to on the street and not think about again. Looks like a typical fella. As you know he is abusive towards me and my mother. He's been hitting me ever since I can remember and it never seems to be enough," he started to swell up in sudden emotion,  _why am I feeling guilty about this?_  He quizzed himself. Sherlock reassuringly rubbed his knee and shuffled closer to him.

"You don't have to go on..." Sherlock started.

"No, I need to tell someone about this. I never have before," he started crying a little. "He used to hit my mother blaming her for the things I and my sister did wrong. He would beat her unconscious and then turn to us. I remember one time where he hit Harry, my sister, and she didn't wake back up. Mother rushed her to hospital and lied saying she fell down the stairs. He never stopped. He started using his belt on me when I stopped reacting. He never let me have friends round. When I was young, my sister came out. He went ape and chucked her out then he beat my mum over and over. I can hear her screams in my dreams sometimes. I hate him so much. When mother left, he started to treat me like a slave. I did everything round the house. I cooked for us and I washed the clothes and so on. I never want to go back there. Especially now. He would kill me." He broke down and started crying into Sherlock's chest.

"Now, now, my sweet," Sherlock tried to reassure him.  _That sick bastard. He will never touch my John again_. "He can't hurt you now. Should we stop this?" John nodded feebly.

"I'm so-so-sor-sorry," John sobbed.

"It's ok John. He won't hurt you again." Sherlock rocked slowly allowing his boyfriend to stop crying. "Better?" He said smiling into the mans eyes as he wiped the tears away. John nodded slowly and kissed Sherlock's nose.

"You want other people to think you're inhuman and that you don't sleep or eat, but you do. You're amazing Sherlock. Don't pretend to be someone you are not."

"I have to John. I can't be the real me." Sherlock said stiffly before returning to his usual self. "Make us some soup dear? You make it so much better," he winked and pulled John in for a kiss by his jaw.

"Ok," he winked back before getting up.

Once the soup was done, Sherlock kissed John for thanks. "You really like kissing me, don't you, Sherlock?" He blushed and nodded.

"The relief I get is overwhelming. Thank you, dear," he said retrieving the soup. An odd sense of fear and longing flooded over John making him light headed. Sherlock barely caught the soup bowls before John hit the floor. He could see his Father over him.

John was shaking and screaming "get away from her" as Sherlock bend over him. Johns eyes flashed open in fear trying to grasp reality. Yet  _he_  was there. Sherlock's words of comfort faded in and out of his head. He couldn't hear. It was like being underwater.

Suddenly he sat up and gasped for air. He started to hyperventilate, but  _he_  had gone. Sherlock flooded into his vision and he saw a bag being placed over his face. He breathed deeply. And something touched his back. He jumped up in terror.

"Calm down love. It's me! It is just a panic attack," Sherlock tried raising his voice and rubbing his back but it wasn't working.  _Nothing is working._  Sherlock sat John down and sat in front of him. Eventually John could hear and see properly and listened to Sherlock's soothing voice telling him how to breathe.

"In and out, there you go darling," Sherlock said proudly to the now stable man before him, "come, let's lie down." He lead the shaky John to johns bed and laid down with John on top of him. The smaller man crawled up into a ball on Sherlock's chest, causing Sherlock to hug him tighter.  _God Mycroft, if you are watching us and you didn't call an ambulance for that. I'm going to kill you,_ Sherlock thought madly to himself.

"I am sorry," a voice creeped up from Sherlock's chest making the man look down. John was now looking at Sherlock with bloodshot eyes and red cheeks. "That hasn't happened in a while, I am ok now." He smiled weakly at Sherlock before climbing up to reach for a kiss.

They laid there for a few minutes softly kissing and occasionally grinding hips until the kisses grew hungry and the thrusts became harder. A moan escaped Sherlock's mouth when the man above him circled his growing erection on his. John broke the kiss and starting to nibbling and kiss Sherlock's muscular neck, leaving Sherlock moaning for more. As John just started to kiss down Sherlock's chest, Sherlock's phone buzzed. With annoyance, Sherlock looked whilst the other man continued his path ways of kisses south. Sherlock sat bolt upright, accidentally throwing John off him. "Sorry, that was Mycroft. He's on his way. dammit!" He yelled before rushing to get a shower.

"Now what am I meant to do?" John laughed pointing to his throbbing erection.

"Think about some turn offs and I'll finish it later," Sherlock winked and left into their shower.  _That bastard,_  John laughed to himself.

In no time, Mycroft knocked on their door before letting himself in. He shot John an unnecessarily cold look and demanded tea. John obliged to his disgust and let Mycroft and Sherlock talk.

"Hello dearest brother," Mycroft started giving is umbrella a twirl. His jacket, unlike his usual getup, was more expensive.  _Been the parliament, got a request from Scottish Yard. Maybe drop in at Buckingham Palace_ , Sherlock thought to himself.

"What do you want?" The younger Holmes demanded tediously.

"Now is that anyway to met your brother? Mother would be so disappointed." He snorted, "there's a case, matter of national importance. I see you've looked over the file today as you logged into the Scottish Yard website at 3:48," Mycroft stated, checking a rolled piece of paper from his pocket.

"Tea?" John piped up.

"Not now John." Sherlock snapped before giving John an apologetic look. "Not my concern. Please leave."

"I'll have the tea please, if you will John." He nodded curtly to the blonde man. As John potted around their mini kitchen, Mycroft and Sherlock sat on twisty chairs facing each other. John did all he could not to laugh. As he brought the tea over to Mycroft, he thanked John. "Should I.. Go?" John asked politely, not wanting to interfere with their life long rivalry.

"It's quite ok John," Sherlock replied kindly. "I won't do it. Not at all," he continued.

"And why not?" The latter Holmes sibling demanded, sipping tea.

"Because it's not of my importance and I am busy working on a case."

"Is that so?" Mycroft raised an eyebrow, "ok, fine. I must go, I have a meeting with," he cleared his throat, "Professor Lestrade." Sherlock sneered as the older man walked out of the room.

"Well he's nice?" John said to Sherlock breaking the awake add silence. Sherlock spun his chair round and made his way to John like a predatory cat.

"Would you like to continue from where we left off?" He winked as he say on John's lap.

"Oh god yes," John eagerly replied before kissing Sherlock roughly. As the kiss deepened, Sherlock's hands flicked and stroked every piece of skin John hand showing before laying his hands to rest on John's muscular chest.

"Before we start, I must know. Are you hurting anywhere from your Father and is there anything you'd prefer me not doing?" Sherlock inquired.

"Just don't spank me," John laughed trying to see the lighter sides of things before pushing Sherlock down and climbing on top of him. John started to trace the veins on Sherlock's neck to jaw line, letting the man moan loudly. Thank god these walls are sound tight, John told himself. He thrust his hips into Sherlock's and he felt his blood rushing to his groin. "Can I?" John asked indicating to Sherlock's bulging trousers. After a feeble nod, John cupped Sherlock and rubbed him slowly.

Sherlock's head flew back and eyes snapped shut, "more he whimpered. John slowly removed Sherlock's top teasingly never breaking the movement with his hand. He hooked both hands round the man's trousers and took them off along with his boxers in one swift movement. John started to kiss up Sherlock's leg from his ankle, occasionally nibbling at parts. Sherlock moaned John's name every time he drew closer. And without warning john took Sherlock whole into his mouth. First time, Sherlock noted. He started to bob his head up and down, twirling his tongue around the head and tracing it down the base. He sucked at the head until he felt Sherlock's muscles tighten, "I'm going to come-" Sherlock moaned loudly as John licked him manically. He came into John's mouth and John swallowed.

"How was that?" John teased.

"Amazing," Sherlock gathered himself, "now lie down and strip off." John did as he was told, his length touching his stomach and spilling precome. "I'm only going to talk to you and stroke you, ok?" Sherlock whispered deeply into his ear, driving him crazy. John nodded and gasped as Sherlock took hold of him. He slowly started to pump as he spoke slowly into John's ear. "I've been waiting to do this to you, John." He sped up slightly. "I want to rip off your clothes and fuck you until you can't walk, John." He held John tighter as the man started to moan. He circled John's head with his thumb with every word. "I want you inside me, I want you to feel me John." He grew faster and faster in time with the rhythm of John's hips. John came unexpected into Sherlock's hand and the man collapsed on him.

"That was amazing," John stuttered. They both fell asleep naked in each other's arms.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Sorry for not uploading and all. I've had a major knock back in my self-esteem and depression. Never mind that though! When you read this, please please comment, it helps me so much.
> 
> Also, I know this fanfiction is based on the themes of violence, abuse, depression and self harm, but PLEASE realise I am not writing this to romanticize it. If you need help with these issues, please seek it. Also, you can PM me for my email and I can message at ANY time. I am here for y'all.
> 
> Don't forget to comment:
> 
> P.S THE LINES ARE FROM TIME CHANGE. Sherlock and John's situations were happening at roughly the same time.

John rose out of a sweat-inducing sleep, shaking. The man next to him, already awake had his hand on his face.

"I was trying to wake you, John. You were talking in your sleep. Typical signs of distress or recurring nightmares," Sherlock whispered quietly, it was only 5 am. "I suggest you go to the school counsellor to get this sorted out. You don't have to hide it from me, I know it was probably to do with your Father, the bastard." He mumbled under his breath.

"Ur- yeah. Sorry," John answered tiredly, he climbed into Sherlock's arms and fell back to sleep.

"Oh," Sherlock said in surprise before reaching for John's phone. He unlocked it easily after observing John once, and checked his boyfriends messages.

_"John, can you visit home in the holidays? Come on the twenty eighth to the Fourth. Dad."_

Sherlock's mind started racing, twelve different scenarios where possible, from unlikely congratulations to the possibility that he found out John was homosexual. Sherlock began thinking and running the possibilities though his mind when John turned over. Sherlock half giggled at the sight of his partner in his  _morning glory._

"Morning, nice to see you are happy to see me," Sherlock winked down at John's hard on.

"Oh shut up!" John winced before flicking the blankets off him. "And get off my phone," he laughed before taking Sherlock's hand into his own. Teasing Sherlock's own growing erection he started to stroke his own.

"Ur- John- what are you doing?" Sherlock looked confused at the man next to him.

"Wait- you have never... You don't masturbate Sherlock?" John quizzed with a smile. Sherlock shook his head whilst John started to move the other mans hand down his naked body. "It's ok, you know?" John started to stroke his length harder and lied back on the bed. Taking John's lead, worried he'd think bad of him if he didn't, mirrored Johns movements on his own cock. He moved himself against the adjacent wall and sat with his legs over John's limp body.

"This - isn't - too - bad," Sherlock gasped between words. He tightened his grip as the other man did, copying all movements still.

"Want help?" John winked before moving himself under Sherlock's legs. Leaning in towards Sherlock he rubbed their lengths together, grunting. Sherlock threw his head back, banging it on the wall. Sherlock climbed on top of John, rubbing harshly against the other man's member. John bucked his hips, making them both come onto each other simultaneously. The taller man flopped onto John breathing heavily.

"I'll do that more often," Sherlock laughed, moving across the room to the shower. Before ducking into the small tiled room, he grabbed a towel, new clothes and his razor. He needed to clean.

When Sherlock was in the shower, John searched for his phone in the bed covers, he knew that Sherlock must had been on it when he had fallen back to sleep because of the sudden movement when he had rolled over. Today was the day before he had to leave for his fathers, already ridden in fear, he started to pack extra thick jumpers; he had found this helped reduce bruises. As he was packing he managed to slip into some loose fitting clothes.

"Um, Sherlock?" He spoke through the thin bathroom door, "I know you know that I am going to my Father's tomorrow. I am kind of really nervous, so can you just be near your phone a lot? I'll probably need support. He shouldn't know about us, and I can't afford to let him know. I am sorry." He unplugged the hair curlers by the bathroom door and slid them through the door to Sherlock once the water had stopped. He couldn't stop smiling at the fact that  _the great Sherlock Holmes_  curled his hair. Sherlock mumbled a mere thanks before reentering the room.

"Hello curly," John teased.

"Shut up." Sherlock spat before pulling his boyfriend in closer by his hips and hushing him with a crushing kiss. "When you are with him, it will be ok. I alerted Mycroft already and he has two of his men moving into the house two doors down and with extra help on standby. I'll be on my phone." John nodded and buried his head into Sherlock's chest. Sherlock awkwardly patted him on the back, he had never been good at helping people.

* * *

_**BANG BANG** _

"I'll be down in five minutes, Sir!" John called out in military formation. He turned his phone of to see the message from Sherlock,  _"HAPPY NEW YEARS EVE -SH"._

"Good boy. Make me some toast when you are down there. We are leaving in 23 minutes." The man barked from behind the door.

"Yes sir," John replied before putting down his phone and getting into a thick jumper. Today was the first whole day at 'home' since the start of school. On the way ' _home_ ' from the train station his father had already made two racist remarks. John had only heard from Sherlock once, which was that morning. It didn't feel like home to John anymore, being with Sherlock - that was home, not being in a house where I am scared to go in the same room as him. He had always figured that all parents were like his father until a couple of years ago, where the school did a presentation about abuse. He really hated his Father for it but he had to deal. His phone buzzed as Harry's name came on the screen:

_"Heard you were at Dad's this new year, good luck bro! Also, if any advances happen with Sherly let me know ;) -HW"_

_Damn her_ , John joked to herself before walking down the stairs silently.

In the next five to ten minutes, his Father had eaten the toast John reluctantly made and they had left the house. John's Father, in his usual attire, found himself alone in the car after leaving John to lock up.

"Get in boy, we will be late," the man ordered. John looked up from his phone and trotted to the car half-heartedly. He nodded to the two men leaving the house two doors down before joining his father. He had just received a text from Sherlock, something to do with a case and that he won't be able to text until the day after. John nodded it off as a mediocre case and smiled it off. "What are you smiling about?" Mr. Watson quizzed as they were pulling out of the driveway.

"Nothing," John replied under his breath.  _You have to be more careful, it will be like those nightmares if you let him know, you know what he did to Harry_ , the voice in his head sneered. Occasionally he head a voice in his head besides his consciousness, his counsellor said it was just due to the stress of his life. The voice sometimes adapted to the person he is influenced most by, so most his life it would have been his father but recently it's been Sherlock.

"Ok, now. I have an important day planned for us. We will be meeting my old squadron leader before going shopping at the local supermarket promptly at 2:30 pm. You will be under best behaviour in front of him, I can't have him think I have raised a weakling, understood?"

"Yes sir," John nodded at the two men again as they drove past them.

"Probably bloody fags, stupid dick heads. Complete waste of-" his Father spat under his breathe.

"Father, they are doing nothing wrong." John started to protest but hushed himself almost immediately. John and his Father drove awkwardly onto the main road. After ten minutes of cursing and tossing off innocent drivers, they left and continued into a private country road. As John didn't know the proposed destination of the trek, he decided to ask his Father.

"Just sit back and enjoy the solitude," was John's reply to his disappointment. His phone buzzed.

"Who in the bloody hell is texting you now?" His Father demanded. John slyly peeked at the name ' _SHERLOCK_ ' and smiled to himself, how he missed being in his presence.

"Oh, no one sir... Just my friend, Sherlock," he cringed at the lie.

"Sherlock? Ha! What a stupid name!" Mr. Watson proclaimed. John felt his ears go red.

"It's not. It's... Traditional," John heard himself protest before he was able to stop himself. "And he's a good mate of mine."

"Mate? Suuuuurrre," his father joked meanly. "What's your deal John? Stay away from the rich snobs."

"I will not stay away from Sherlock!" John felt his anger growing,  _why can't he just be a regular father and accept the fact I am... Gay...?_

"Why not? He sounds... What's the word... Like a fag! Wait..." He widened his eyes in disbelief. His father stopped the car almost immediately on the country lane and got out. John's heart sank. There was no military personnel around. It was complete silence apart from his breathes and a distant helicopter buzzing around the distant horizon.

"What's going on?" John asked, ducking out of the car. "Sir?" His father walked around the car and slammed John into the bonnet. "Dad! Stop!" John pleaded.

"YOU'RE GAY TOO, HUH?" He bellowed only a few centimeters from John's ear.

"What does it matter now? You'll kick me out like you did to.. Like you did to Harry! I cannot change who I am," John started crying. His father grew pale with fury before wrapping his fingers around John's throat tightly.

* * *

"It was my idea, Sherlock," he said tutting, "miNE!" He threw the table across the room at the younger man.

"I- I-" Sherlock barely stammered.

"NO. It was MY idea Sherlock. Now little Johnny will have to pa-a-a-aay," the irish man sang. Sherlock's head snapped up in shock. The table had barely moved two meters in his direction before the man was on top of him.

"Bad. Bad. Bad." The man punctuated every word by gashing Sherlock's cheekbone open.

"How do you know about him?" Sherlock whimpered, rising to his feet. He wiped the blood off his face before sexily ruffling his ragged hair, in the fashion that drove John crazy.

"Oh Sherlock, you need to notice more. I, James Moriarty, and my henchman slash partner in crime over there," he said pointing towards Sebastian Morgan, who he had already introduced earlier, "we have a little, humble empire growing. We already hold two positions in the government and three majors in the Army. Why am I telling you this, you may ask? Because I want to WATCH YOU BURN!" He screamed in Sherlock's face.

"Very... Admiring of you," Sherlock laughed whilst whipping his phone out. He had a message from Mycroft. Without looking at the message, he returned it to his jacket pocket. "I must be off now. One last question, what will you do now?" Sherlock said, walking to the door.

"Burn you."

"Mycroft, what's happened?!" Sherlock demanded, the urgency rose in his voice. He picked up his pace as he started to run through the deserted fields.

"John's been admitted to hospital."

"Is he alive?"

"Scraping it. Took a dangerous blow to the head, losing quite a bit of blood. Also, his Father tried to strangle him. He is struggling to breathe. We are sending him to the best. For you, Sherlock."

"Good."

"He is in the helicopter coming to you know. How fitting you two were so close without realising it." Sherlock mumbled at his older brother.  _Always thinking he's better than me, bastard._

"Now is not the time for games,  _Mikey_ ,"

"What were you doing today Sherlock?" Ignoring Sherlock's remark.

"I had a talk with James Moriarty, I don't see how it's your problem," Sherlock replied.

"Jim Moriarty? THE Jim Moriarty? Sherlock I told you specifically to stay away from him! What will mummy and daddy think?" Mycroft teased to hide his growing anger at his longer sibling. Sherlock had never listened to Mycroft, and now he was in life threatening danger. "And I presume you just walked out off there?" He scoffed.

"Actually, I did. Surprising lack of security. Probably just a set up to lure me into a false sense of security. I'll give you the details latter. Must go, the helicopter has arrived." He said, started to walk under the helicopter blades.

"Ok Sherlock. I will tell you this now, John's father won't be walking out alive. Purely accidental death obviously."

"Thank you Mycroft," he screamed in reply, seeing John filled with tubes.


	5. Chapter 5

_Beep beeeeeeep Beep beeeeeeep Beep beeeeeeeep_

_324065_... _324066_... _324067_ heart beats since John had been plugged in to various machines. Sherlock had been awake for a constant three days. He hadn't slept,ate, or even moved from John's side. He slowly felt his brain functions decreasing but increasing again when the heart monitor beeped. Sherlock was a man of many miracles and many thought he was capable of anything, like his broken John, but even he knew this was close to impossible. Thanks to John, Sherlock had managed to repress any urges that flew his way. He could feel his brain pulsing. He observed John every second. Checking his cannula and his tubes. He continually checked the flow of local anesthetic to him. He started this after calculating the correct amount for John’s height, age and weight to the nearest 50 decimal places and finding out that they were dosing him 0.2ml out. John had a series of black bruises around his throat that extended to his spinal chord and temples. He also had a broken jaw and a chipped collar bone. The doctors had said that it was a slim chance of him making it to hospital in time. There was a 34/100 chance of him waking up and being able to walk fully, now that he had injuries to his spinal cords as well. Sherlock grew increasingly aware that the longer he was unconscious, the littler the chances of him waking up were.

“Dear brother,” Mycroft whispered over Johns limp body, Sherlock pried his eyes of the man to look up.

“Tell me you got him,” Sherlock moaned. John’s father had made a quick getaway after the helicopters landed had airlifted John. As a military man, he would know how to get away with it. _Abusive git_ , Sherlock muttered to himself.

“Yes. He is in custody now. Trust me, he won’t get out of prison… at least not alive,” Mycroft said under his breath. He knew it was risky talking about it, but it was the only comfort he could bring to his little brother.

“Thank you. What was he like?” Sherlock asked.

“Horrid, he is a vile creature. He is a prime example of why I hate the military,” Mycroft rocked on his heels, getting bored of the conversation. “Mother is in the building, she told me to inform you of this.” Sherlock nodded. “You need to get away from here. Just go for a coffee. I will call you if anything changes.”

“You just want me to leave him,” Sherlock groaned. I am fine here, now fuck off! he swore to himself.

“I will update you.” Mycroft slowly lost all temper with his younger brother. He had been trying to get him out of this ward for the past day or so. He saw his brother, on the brink of destruction, cradling his boyfriends hand in a ward where the dying come to be made comfortable. Mycroft was having problems identifying the emotions that turned his stomach into knots, so he just left it. He sat down, holding his territory, and Sherlock made a sigh. He put his fingers on his lips and looked at Sherlock, analysing him. _He hasn't slept, eaten, or moved. His brain functions are slowly decreasing and he can’t control his emotions. He will relapse soon._

"I'll be on my phone. I'll only be five minutes," he bent down to John's ear and whispered, "I love you." He broke physical contact reluctantly but didn't stop staring at job until he left the room.

He suddenly felt alone. His heart sank as he noticed the ward he was in. He hadn't seen anything other than John and his fifteen tubes since he had been admitted. He once mistook a male nurse, doing John's three hourly check-ups, of being Moriarty. That named seemed to be cropping up more and more. His mind grew with every step. _One step_ , he was noticing peoples hair colour. _Two steps_ , he was noticing peoples preying eyes on his unwashed suit and skin. _Three steps_ , he was noticing peoples name tags and baggage content. He felt normal again, though his brain had a monotone of the word ‘ _John_ ’ repeating itself over and over. He was walking, analyzing everything. That woman on the phone just inherited her father's money. J _udging by her trying to conceal a grin, he was an abusive alcoholic and she’s glad he is dead._ This just brought his mind back to John. He grew extremely angry all of a sudden. He decided to go for a cigarette.

* * *

Outside he met with Molly. “Its unlike you to smoke,” Sherlock pointed out.

“Oh… Yeah…” Molly looked stunned, “it’s been hard recently.. I don’t know… Why are you talking to me Sherlock?” She tilted her head.

“What do you mean? I - I urrr - always talk to you-” Sherlock rambled, suddenly becoming very aware of how he was standing and speaking.

“Doesn’t matter Sherlock…” Molly seemed remorseful. “So… I heard John was admitted?” She said carefully.

“Is that why you are here? To get a glimpse of the gossip?” Sherlock’s voice rose. “Who told you? How do you know”

“I- I- I- just heard it on the ward. I am sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” she was shocked at how violent he got. She was just in the hospital to do her training rotation, _he knows that,_ she thought to herself.

“Fine.” Sherlock huffed awake and stormed away.

As he was walking through the wards his mind became scrambled and organised at once. He stood but felt like he was falling. He continued to walk, trying to shake it off, but it wouldn’t go. He was drawing attention to himself, feeling overexposed, he ducked into the nearest empty side room. He stood in the doorway before shutting the door behind him. There was painting the wall, a small, dead, pot plant in the corner, he sunk against a corner as he distinguished these objects. He started mumbling over and over, unaware of the noises he was creating. _Not again. Not again. Not again_. Sherlock fell over, hitting his head and consequently knocking over a filing cabinet. He felt a rope around his neck, slowly robbing him of breath. He felt a warm trickle down his forehead, _have I been cut?_ he said to himself over the yelling of his head.

"Sherlock?!" His mother burst through the door and screamed at the sight of him. Her youngest son was curled in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth. She immediately ran over to the corner he was in and confined him in her warmth. "Shhhh," she repeated in his ear over and over. _GO AWAY GO AWAY,_ his head screamed, words unable to reach his lips. "Stay here, I'll get help," she whispered before leaving into the main ward. _No no no no no no no stupid boy. Emotions are not an advantage. John will die because of this. It's your fault. Stupid, idiotic, unwanted, unnecessary, inconsiderate, weird, stupid little boy_. His head rambled, beating against his skull. Everything sunk backwards until he was left in his Mind Palace. He was in a new room, or was it old? There's a painting the wall, a small, dead, pot plant in the corner, and a man, hooded, in the middle of the room. Sherlock tried to leave, get into his calm room, with Redbeard. _I need Redbeard. I need Redbeard. Please leave me please._ The hooded man out his whole are into Sherlock's chest. Sherlock coiled in pain, trembling, screaming. The man moved his hand to sherlocks windpipe, slowly squeezing. Sherlock gasped for breath, occasionally getting a glimpse of reality. The mind palace room grew darker and darker.

* * *

When Sherlock woke, he was in a white room. _Reality or imaginary?_ He quizzed himself. He rose slowly, taken aback by the pounding ache in the back of his head. _Reality_ , he noted. He raised his hand to his head, not noticing the tag around his wrist. His eyes were blurred, he flinched at the light radiating from the large window adjacent to the bed he was in. He was in his clothes, that’s a good sign. He was on a plush white bed, bottom half of his body concealed in a thin, white blanket. He felt his phone poke into his rib cage and sneered at the pain.

“Hello, Mr Holmes?” A woman's voice said from next to him. He slowly moved his head in response. “Can you tell me where you are?”

“John, where’s John?” Sherlock muttered between hard breaths. He looked at her, but he couldn't make out her features yet.

“Can you tell me where you are, Sherlock?” the woman repeated. Sherlock was able to see that she was a nurse, in a calming blue tunic. She was writing on a clipboard. He couldn’t make out her face but her voice… Sherlock knew that voice.

“Where. Is. John?” Sherlock’s voice grew angry at her reluctance to answer the question. “And, I assume by the rooms interior and the fact the doors double locked, this is a psychiatric ward. However, as this room had an unbarred window and a blanket, this is a room for minor cases. Why am I here?" He felt his temples pulsing from deducing too much.

“Yes. You were admitted here after a major relapse.” She stated. “How are you feeling?”

“I am fine. I’ll discharge myself now. If you could kindly point me in the direction of John Watson…” He winced under his breath as he fumbled through the endless blanket.

“Sherlock sit down please. Can you tell me what happened at the time of the panic attack?”

“No I will not. I will discharge myself now. I am fine, and I always will be,” He started to walk to the door before stumbling backwards. There was a cold hand on his shoulder. He turned quickly, brain functioning fast. “I know you!” He sneered at the nurse. Their faces only inches apart.

“Took your time sweetheart,” the woman laughed, “Irene Adler, at your service!” She bowed mockingly and laughed. “I was there with Moriarty and you guys threw a hissy fit at each other! _No I was a consulting detective first! No I was!_ You guys are such drama queens!” She laughed in his face. Sherlock wiped her spit off him, noticing the tag.

“What did you do to me?"

“Nothing, you did this all by yourself!” She laughed. “I merely insured you got sectioned on behalf of James after all.”

“Ok. Can I go now?” Sherlock asked, he wasn’t in the mood for fighting. I have to find John.

“Not at all. You’re to remain here until James is finished with John,” she smiled menacingly. Sherlock felt the anger rise inside him, pressing at his temples.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HIM?!” Sherlock screamed, grabbing the woman by her throat. Her eyes widened in shock but she stood silent. “TELL ME!” Sherlock yelled. She stood under his grip tutting at him. At that moment another man came in, _Sebastian_ he thought to himself, and called for help. Two muscled men restrained Sherlock as he flailed around, Sebastian had already injected him with anesthetic. He continued to yell at Irene when he felt his conscience slip away. He had approximately three seconds. _THINK! That was too much anesthetic to be given to me. I have to fight it. First, stay awake. Think of John. John. John. John’s lips. John’s eyes. John’s temples. John’s addiction of jam. John’s favourite jumper, Johns back curve._ His eyes slowly began to shut.

* * *

John was slowly brought out of his short term coma. He only had the doctor and a nurse to talk to. He gained visual and hearing senses first. He noticed Sherlock was gone. When he was able to talk he found out that hadn’t been seen in a few days, John grew increasingly worried about this. _He’s fine, probably just gone home to change or sleep,_  he tried to convince himself.

“Sorry, where am I?” John asked, aware of his unknown surroundings.

“The Royal Hospital of London, dear. You were admitted after… What do you remember?” an attractive nurse in a calming blue tunic asked him, picking up a clipboard.

“I think… No… Did my Father do this to me?”

"I'm afraid so, I'm sorry darling." The woman nodded before being called out for an emergency. John was left to ponder in his thoughts. _Is this real? It can’t be. Dad wouldn’t do this to me… Where is he?_ He shakily text Sherlock and sat by his phone waiting for a reply. 4 hours later, he grew worried and called Mycroft.

“Hello John,” the man on the other end of the phone said.

“Hey Mycroft… You wouldn’t happen to know where Sherlock is, do you?”

“No, why? How long has be been gone?” Mycroft tried to level is voice.

“A few days ago was the last sighting. Do you think something is wrong? What was he doing before I was… Um… admitted? Also, where’s my Father? John asked sheepishly.

“Your Father is in custody, he can’t get to you anymore,” Mycroft replied strangely comfortingly. “And as for Sherlock, I don’t know. I’ll get my men onto it. Thanks John.” He hung up.

* * *

Sherlock woke up in sweats. Allowing his eyes to open minisculely, there was two woman, a man and a person on a bed next to him. He shut his eyes again, allowing his muscles to relax once again. His breathing slowed and he felt everything slip away.

* * *

The next time Sherlock woke there was a familiar presence next to him. He felt a hand in his but he couldn’t open his eyes.

“John?” Sherlock croaked, throat dry. The hand held him firmer but he fell back into unconsciousness. John sat next to him in his wheelchair trying to hold back his tears. That was the second time that they had try to revive him from his coma. Yet, again, to no avail. Mycroft, Mrs Holmes and the blue tunic’d nurse was standing around, staring at the unconscious man. They wouldn't leave John alone.

* * *

Sherlock was flying. He was free. He was able to move everywhere and anywhere in his mind palace. The room with the hooded man to Redbeard’s room. That dog followed him everywhere in his mind. He showed his companion the part of him that involved around John. He showed this companion the hooded figure and his identification files. Sherlock wanted to wake up but he couldn’t. Something was keeping him unconscious. He started to run around his mind palace, flying through walled seemingly easy and always floating above the imaginary flooring. He tried to talk but only choked.

* * *

Eventually Sherlock woke. His eyes opened and mouth moved around forming unknowable words. His pupils expanded and identified the two woman and the, now, two men. He was choking on something. He started to panic, and his hands shook uncontrollably. A hand took it in theirs as another set of hands removed the object from his mouth. He opened his eyes again to get a glimpse of a long chord being removed from his throat. Another pair of hands slowly poured a few drops of water into his mouth.

“John?” Sherlock groaned. Sitting next to him was a pale, yet healthier looking, John in a wheelchair. John managed a smile and hid a moan of relief. He held onto Sherlock's hand tighter.

“You had us scared,” one of the women said. _Mother_ , Sherlock said to himself in delight. She was holding a cup of water. Mycroft and a female nurse were crowded around him. “You were out for a week.”

“Why did you not wake me?” Sherlock said after accepting more water.

“We tried. You couldn’t stay conscious for more than a few minutes. You flat lined, the doctors barely saved you until your boyfriend here pushed them out the way and did it himself,” the nurse said calmly. John couldn’t meet Sherlock's gaze as she spoke. _Had he really done that for me? Why? I’m not that important to him._

“Yes. That boy of yours seems to be very stubborn,” Mycroft scoffed, rocking on his heels. “Refused to leave your side since you were admitted into _ICU_ and he just won’t go back to the university. Hmmm.” Sherlock became sleepy again.

“I think we should leave them alone now, dear,” Mrs. Holmes said, taking Mycroft, by the back, out of the room. The nurse nodded at the both and dismissed herself after altering with one of Sherlock’s tube. They stared into each others eyes, both hearts beating fast. John leaned down and kissed his Sherlock on the forehead. _I love you,_ he thought over and over, unable to speak

“John…” Sherlock whimpered before slipping back into sleep. He saw John getting wheeled away by a woman in a blue tunic.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Sorry it took so long to update (again). I am aware this chapter sucks but please kudos and comment! It means so much to me:) be safe now!<3


End file.
